


Sweet Sacrifice

by Tcharlatan



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Class Differences, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Insecurity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Powerlessness, Slavery, Virgin Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tcharlatan/pseuds/Tcharlatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple tavernboy catches the eye of traveling nobility, and his master takes measures to ensure that the lord's bed is adequately warmed for the night.</p><p>(AU - no prior familiarity with characters necessary)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cadkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/gifts).



> This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en Grey, and do not profit from this work.

It was a night much the same as any other before it, presumably as many more would be to follow. From day to day, many small things changed; the weather would flare and fade, the faces and voices of people passing through were constantly shifting, children grew and animals died and crops came and went again and again. But for all that, the things that really mattered always seemed to stay the same. Under a cloudless sky, staring mournfully up at the darkening pink-and-violet sky, a young man prayed to the first star as it came into view – as he had every night he could remember, his entire life – that something meaningful would change, if only just this once. As always, only the distant trill of cicadas answered his pleas.

A sharp breeze rolled over the boy, chilling the skin exposed by his ragged, woefully thin tunic and pants that ended too high over the tops of beaten shoes. Flowers shaken loose by the wind – jasmine from the vines nearby, by the smell of them – fluttered through the air to catch on the rough wool of his clothes and the glossy black silk of his hair, even tied as it was into braid snaking its way down his back. He shivered against the cold, but made no move towards the warm light of the open door behind him. Not when it was so serene, so peaceful and beautiful out here; not when it was so noisy, so chaotic and foul in there. Just for another moment, he wanted to savor the quiet. Just one more moment…

“Where’s tha' damned boy with th’ water?!”

And just like that, the moment was over. The young man hastily snatched up the bucket of water he’d been sent to draw from the well and rushed back into the tavern’s kitchen. The innkeeper’s wife and two daughters were bustling about, cooking up stew, baking fresh bread, and roasting birds for supper. He delivered them their water, then ducked out quickly, wincing at their shrill voices scolding him to keep out of their way. Next he collected the threadbare apron from behind the bar, received a solid smack to the back of the head from the innkeeper for having taken so long outside, and set to arranging tankards of ale on a tray. He was careful to keep the platter evenly balanced; he’d tipped it the night before when one of the tavern’s regulars in passing had pinched his side in a show of drunken nastiness and one of the heavy mugs had fallen off, shattering across the floor. His ribs and back still ached fiercely from the beating he’d received for that little prank.

And this night played out like every other. He went from table to table, picking up empty mugs and answering calls of “Hey, Boy!” with fresh ale in exchange for a few copper coins, which he tucked into his apron pocket. A few people ordered supper as well, and he took their payment before rushing back to the kitchen for plates of meat or stew and bread, ignoring the twisting of his own stomach as he served them. For a couple hours, it was an endless, harried cycle trying to keep up with everyone’s demands, and the young man carried it out with a carefully neutral face and hardly a word beyond “Yes, sir” and “Right away, sir.” A few of the meaner regulars gave him some grief, as usual – trying to get him to break his stoic façade by pinching or prodding, dropping their payment or utensils on the floor and making him kneel to pick them up – but for the most part, he was ignored as he carried out his duties as quickly and quietly as possible. Seen and heard only when needed, invisible otherwise.

It was getting quite late in the evening when a new, rather boisterous group came crowding in through the front doors. The tavern boy paused his clearing of a now-empty table, watching the group fill up one of the larger tables by the fire, and found himself openly gaping in spite of himself. He’d never seen men so well-dressed in his _life;_ all silks and velvets and soft wools, with pearls and opals for buttons and trimmed with elegant embroidery. All of them held themselves straight and proud, none of them had so much as a hair out of place, and as a whole, they exuded an intangible air of privilege and entitlement. They were all cleaner and classier than anyone he’d ever known, and he couldn’t imagine what obvious royalty was doing in their shabby little _village_ , let alone the run-down tavern.

Swallowing his awe, he started towards the table to offer them mugs of ale from his tray, but the innkeeper flagged him down before he got halfway across the room. The man looked agitated, and it put the braided boy on edge; his master being any kind of upset never boded well for him. He returned to the bar, only to stare on in shock as the innkeeper replaced the tankards on his tray with the fancier metal ones he’d _never_ seen used for guests. A basket full of warm, fresh bread rolls was added as well, and before the bowl even had time to settle fully onto the tray, the innkeeper had his serving boy by a fistful of tunic, dragging him halfway up the bar to hiss directly into his face.

“Tha’s proper rich folk over there, Boy; honest-t’-god _nobles_ wit' _real_ money. They sure as shit ain’t from around here, so I’ll wager they’re after food an’ lodging fer the night, an' we ain’t the only inn in town. You get them _whatever_ they want, an' if you fuck this up fer me, _I’ll have yer hide for gloves an' a hat_ , you understand?”

The young man nodded quickly, eyes wide. “Yes, sir.”

He was released abruptly, and would have fallen if not for the reflexes to catch himself against a nearby barstool. Quickly, carefully, he carried the tray to the table of noblemen and set to serving them. One tankard to each man, placed within easy reach without interrupting the flow of conversation or knocking into any gesticulating limbs. Bread basket in the center of the table. Simple enough, but not necessarily easy, and every gesture that brought a hand within bare centimeters of knocking something out of his hands was utterly nerve-wracking, but he managed the task without incident. Turning away, the young man let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding, relief washing over him. All the gods in all the world could not save him if he sullied any of those fine clothes or otherwise upset any of those extravagant men.

Then a large hand wrapped around his boney wrist, and he just about jumped out of his own skin in fright, head snapping around to look at the man who’d caught him up. This man was obviously the leader of the pretentious group; seated at the head of the table with his companions soaking up his every word, wearing the finest clothes accented with shining jewelry, blood red hair like nothing the tavern boy had ever seen tied back into an immaculate loose ponytail. The young man thought that the black tie holding back those crimson locks _alone_ was probably worth more than he himself was. And yet this Lord was _touching_ him – bare hand on his bare wrist – dirtying himself with shockingly casual disregard as he stared him down. For a split second, he was absolutely certain that had already managed to fuck this up somehow and he was going to be beaten for an offense he couldn’t even identify. But then the redhead was flashing him an entirely disarming smile and he struggled to find his voice.

“M’-M’Lord…?” he stammered, breathless.

“Are you still serving supper? I know it’s a touch late, but we’re quite famished.”

The tavern boy shook his head quickly. “No m’Lord! I mean… th-that is, it’s not too late. We have roast bird or… ah… d-deer stew?”

It really shouldn’t have been so difficult; he’d been offering people the same choices for supper every night for as long as he could remember. But this man was throwing him completely off-balance; the firm grip and steady eye-contact making him feel surrounded and overwhelmed, even as that amazing smile worked to knock him off his guard. He was ill-accustomed to such intense regard, worried that he might choke on it.

“Ah! Wonderful!”

Then that smile was redirected, and piercing, almost feline eyes were turned back on the other noblemen. It was enough that he could at least breathe again, just a little, but he didn’t move a single muscle otherwise. This time, when the redhead looked back to him to relay the table’s orders, he was smart enough to keep his head bowed. Then his hand was turned over, money was pressed into his palm, and even when he was released, he remained frozen. Three gold coins, shiny and warm from the man’s purse. _Gold_ coins, _gold!_ The tavern boy had only seen even silver pieces a handful of times, _never_ had he even dreamed of seeing real gold. Three pieces was enough to buy all the ale, all the food, and all the rooms in the inn, for at least a month. No wonder his master was in such a flurry over these guests!

“M’-…M’Lord, this-…” He stopped, swallowing. The innkeeper would surely flog him within a hair of his life if he told the redheaded lord that he was overpaying.

“We’ll be staying the night as well; in separate rooms, if you have enough vacancies. I assume this will be enough to cover that as well as supper?”

Gods, but he had a smooth voice.

“Y-yes, m’Lord. Right away.”

The braided boy bowed as politely as he knew how and rushed back to the kitchen, wide-eyed as he relayed the table’s order. The innkeeper was on him in a heartbeat, grabbing him by the arm as his wife and daughters set to loading up the tray, and all he could do was look up at his master in hopeless shock and hand over the gold pieces.

“He said they’ll be taking rooms for the night,” he told the older man in a hushed tone of awe.

“Of course they will… of course…” the innkeeper muttered, staring intently at the coins as if he could hardly believe they were real.

“Here now, Boy, the food’s ready, take it out to ‘em, take it out!” the innkeeper’s wife told him, shoving the entirely over-burdened tray into his arms and shooing him out of the kitchen.

“Yes, Missus!”

In his scramble to serve up the food, the young man missed the appraising look his master and missus gave the gold coins, the way they took in the redhead noble’s charming smile and amicable regard towards their serving boy. He never saw them exchange a look of understanding and agreement, or heard the whispered orders the innkeeper’s wife gave to her eldest daughter. All he could think about was balancing his heavy tray; all he could focus on was serving up each dish as quietly and unobtrusively as was humanly possible. It wasn’t until he returned for a fresh round of tankards that he realized anything was amiss, when the innkeeper took him by the arm and dragged him out back again.

“Wash yerself up! Be quick, but do it good an’ proper, you hear?”

“Bathe? Now? B-but, sir… the customers! And I have to prepare the rooms for the noblemen!” Not to mention it was _freezing_ outside!

The innkeeper only growled and smacked him upside the head again, hard enough to nearly send him toppling into the well. “Shut up an' do as yer told!”

Utterly confused, the boy had no choice but to obey. His master disappeared back inside, presumably taking over the tasks of tending to the few customers they still had left, and he bit his tongue unhappily as he drew up a bucket of freezing cold water. He had his clothes off and his hair half-unraveled from its braid when the innkeeper’s wife and one of the daughters came rushing out and swarmed over him with soap, rags, and brushes. A startled cry was all he could manage as they set to washing him in a harsh, humiliatingly thorough manner; scrubbing every last centimeter of him, combing every last tangle out of his hair, and when they dumped the water over his head to rinse him, he thought he might collapse from the bitter cold. The wind was still blowing strong.

“P-please, mmmissus, what is h-h-happening? Why m-must I bathe now?” he begged through chattering teeth as the two women roughly toweled him dry.

“Don’t be an idiot! We can’t have you going t’ that Lord’s room all sweaty an’ covered in soot, now can we?” she snapped, wrapping a heavy dressing gown around his shoulders.

“G-… go… to his room?” he breathed, staring down at the robe. It belonged to the innkeeper’s daughter, and it was the finest garment she owned; deep violet brocade with subtle black embellishments. He knew because she harped at him every time he had to launder it to be careful not to snag a thread or scrub it too harshly or leave it in such a way that it would wrinkle. “Missus…?”

“You don’ honestly think a man would pay three gold pieces fer supper an’ an _empty_ bed fer the night, do ya? Gods only know why he’d have an eye fer a rat like you, but I s’ppose rich folk like that can afford t’ have poor taste as they please.” She shook her head, scowling her disapproval.

“You ready yet, Boy?!” the innkeeper’s voice came from the kitchen door, hurried and low.

“Coming!” The man’s wife called back, pushing at the tavern boy’s back. “Hurry up now! Go!”

“What? Wait, _what?!”_

Bed?! An _eye_ for him?! Surely she didn’t mean what it sounded like she meant! For all that the family clearly hated him – for all that the master beat him for the pettiest grievances, for all that he was dressed in rags and fed on scraps, for all that he’d spent his life as nothing more than a beast of burden to them – there was no way they would _sell him as a whore to some stranger!_ It was too much, too cruel even for them, it had to be. But the master was bustling him up the stairs now, towards the finest room the inn had to offer, away from the safety and familiarity of his usual chores, and there was less and less room for doubt with every step they took.

“S-sir-”

“Get th’ room ready fer his Lordship an’ wait here for him, I’ll tend the dinin’ room fer the rest of the night. You do whatever he wants; I don’t wanna see you out of this room ‘til morning, understood?”

The innkeeper turned to leave, but the young man caught him by the sleeve, pleading eyes wide and shoulders hunched in fright. “Sir, please, don’t make me do this! P-please, I can’t possibly-”

His master shook him off disdainfully and pushed him further into the room. “Get that damn fire started, Boy, b’fore his Lordship finishes his dinner! He’ll want his room warm.”

Then the tavern boy was left alone, staring in horrified disbelief at the closed door. This was really happening. He was really being sold, and there was absolutely nothing he could do or say to stop it. If he failed to please this lord, if anything happened to threaten those three precious gold coins, there was not a shadow of a doubt that his master would murder him in the most gruesome way possible. Looking down at himself, at the lovely robe wrapped around him and the curtain of black hair that fell loose over his shoulders, he felt his stomach sink with dread. He was going to be hurt this night, he was certain.

Swallowing the lump of fear huddled at the back of his throat, he set himself to readying the room, certain that he would be sick if he thought about his plight any further. His hands shook as he dressed the bed with the inn’s finest fresh linens, lit candles, started up the fire in the small hearth, and ensured that everything was free of dust and cobwebs. When everything was prepared, he crouched in front of the fireplace and tried to chase away the pervasive chill still lingering from his recent bath. There was nothing now but to wait.

He had no idea how long he stayed there, watching flames dance against the stone walls and dreading his fate. His hair dried and he warmed slowly, but nothing seemed to chase away the cold inside of him. He wanted the nobleman to never come; to stay downstairs with his friends forever, drinking and laughing the night away. But at the same time, he knew that wasn’t going to happen, and he just wanted to get the whole thing over with so the anticipation would stop eating him alive. Finally, and far too soon, the door clicked open, and he stood quickly to face it, head bowed and hands clenched anxiously at his sides.

The redhead seemed surprised to see him, blinking at him and then smiling bemusedly as he shut the door behind himself. “Well, hello there. I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”

The tavern boy shivered a bit, shifting his weight from side to side. What was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to say? “I… I was sent to prepare your room, m’Lord…”

“Is that so? Well, thank you very much, it’s quite nice. Nothing better than a warm room on a chilly night like tonight, I’d say.”

Privately, the tavern boy was certain the lord was simply being gracious. Surely he was accustomed to far grander accommodations than these. But he seemed comfortable enough, humming cheerfully to himself as he started stripping out of his travelling clothes without so much as a scrap of modesty. And, peeking out uncertainly through the curtain of black hair shielding his face, the servant had to admit that such a man had no need for modesty. The lord was utterly beautiful in every way; red hair like velvet in the firelight framing elegant features, tall and well-toned with glorious golden skin, completely devoid of scars or imperfections. When he was down to just his trousers, he stretched his long limbs with a contented sigh before turning that damnable smile on the tavern boy once more.

“I think I’m quite settled in for the evening, if you need to see to your other patrons.”

The young man swallowed again, struggling to keep his voice steady as he replied, “M’Lord, I-… m-my master bade me stay here… and see to _your_ needs this evening.” Taking a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to continue. “…Whatever they may be.”

There was a very long pause, during which neither man spoke, and the tavern boy wondered if the sound of his heart pounding was as deafening to the redhead as it was to himself. It was so loud in his own ears, he didn’t hear the soft shift of cloth or the ghostly pad of bare feet over the rug as the taller man drew up close to him, didn’t even realize the man’s proximity until a large hand was cupping his chin, startling him badly. He bit his lower lip and looked up out of reflex, and found himself trapped again in that devastating gaze.

“Are you telling me you’ve been sent to warm my bed, sweetheart?” the taller man asked calmly.

Barely more than a whisper, “Yes, m’Lord.”

“I see…”

And the young man remained where he was, frozen, as the redhead released his chin and reached instead for the tie of his robe, undoing the knot easily. His stomach twisted oddly as the garment was slowly opened, pushed back off of his shoulders and let to slide down until it caught at his elbows, leaving his entire front and upper body bare to the lord’s curious stare. The shivers came again and this time didn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried to fight them for fear of offending the redhead. It seemed an eternity that those intense almond eyes raked their way up and down his body, taking in every exposed bit of him before coming back to rest on his face.

“So shy… I wonder, have you been with a man before?” the lord wondered, cocking his head to one side.

It registered as something of a bizarre question. Most people barely realized that he even existed for more than a few seconds at a time, and certainly no one before had ever expressed any interest in touching him beyond what was necessary for punishment. Truth be told, absolutely everything about the attention this lord was giving him was completely foreign, and he had no way of knowing how to deal with any of it.

“N-… no, m’Lord.”

“Have you been with anyone?”

“No, m’Lord.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I could never be so cruel as to deflower such a sweet boy for a couple of coins… no matter how pretty he might be. But truthfully, I’ve always been quite poor at resisting temptation, so I hope you can forgive me indulging myself in you in other ways.”

The tavern boy had no idea what that meant; hardly a clue what he’d been spared, and utterly lost as to what he’d be subjected to instead. His trepidation and uncertainly showed plainly on his face, and the redheaded lord took pity on him even as he backed the smaller man up against the wall, leaning down to lay a chaste kiss over quivering lips. So close to the hearth, the wall here was warm against his bare back, but still he trembled as the man – taller than him, broader than him, stronger and more confident than him – pressed their bodies tight together, sliding one knee between his thighs and surrounding him. Broad hands slipped under the draping folds of his robe to run over his sides, his hips, his _butt_ and it made him gasp and squirm, unsure if he wanted to press into or away from the overwhelming touch.

Lips trailed over his cheek to hover just next to his ear, warm breath tickling against the sensitive skin there as the redhead whispered, “Tell me… do you ever touch yourself? _Pleasure_ yourself?”

A deep blush flared across the smaller man’s face, memories of countless nights exploring his own body, furtively seeking pleasure and warmth from his own hand flashing in his mind. “Y-yes, m’Lord.”

“Show me. And my name is _Die_ , please use it.”

Instructions! Yes, instructions were good; as long as he had instructions, it didn’t matter that his brain was rapidly turning to mush, he just had to do as he was told. Slowly, with stilted motions, he moved to touch himself as he’d been bid. “Yes… Die…” he murmured, tasting the sound of it even as his heart twisted at the audacity of speaking a lord’s name aloud.

“Ahhh, very good…” Die purred, twining his fingers with those of the servant’s free hand and pinning it against the wall over the smaller man’s head to keep him in place as he continued exploring. “And what is your name?”

That took some thinking, and not only because the satisfaction of his own shy strokes was combining with the unfamiliar feeling of another hand touching him gently and making it hard to focus. “I… I don’t think I have one, m’Lo-… ah… _D-Die_. I have only ever been called ‘Boy.’”

“Well that won’t do, now will it? We’ll have to find a pretty, proper name for you,” the lord murmured against the pale column of the smaller man’s neck, pleased to note that the fearful tremors wracking the slender body beneath his own were slowly beginning to fade away. He ran his tongue over the delicate skin just under an angular jaw, and grinned when the simple action earned him the tiniest gasp of a moan. “You smell absolutely _divine_ … mmmn… How about we call you ‘Kaoru’?”

Any other time, the tavern boy – Kaoru, now – would have been absolutely blown away to be given such a name. That one word, graceful and lovely and inexplicably now assigned to him by this gracious lord to grant him an identity, _humanity_ , was undoubtedly the most wonderful gift he’d ever received, and one that could never be taken away from him. But in that moment, with Die’s hand ending its explorations by joining his own over his hardening cock, all he could do was let it wash over him along with the waves of slow-building pleasure. He hadn’t known being touched by another man would be like this, hadn’t known _anything_ could feel this good.

“Ye-s, m’Lord…” he answered, mindlessly. “Yes, Die…”

Then Die’s hand left him completely, and he found himself mourning its loss. He wanted more of the gentle caresses, was coming to crave them more and more with every centimeter of him they stroked with such care. But the redhead had pulled back only enough to undo the laces on his own trousers, to ease his own straining erection from their strangling confines. Kaoru watched, panting and flushed – equal parts enthralled and embarrassed – as Die laced their fingers together once more and pressed his cock into the tunnel they made right alongside the servant’s. Wide eyes the color of molten dark chocolate flashed up to meet those of the taller man, questioning and uncertain, and were answered with that mind-numbing smile once more. Die began to rock his hips back and forth and Kaoru’s head tipped back on his neck, mouth falling open in a cry he couldn’t find the air to voice.

It was air he wouldn’t soon reclaim. Within the space of a single frantic heartbeat, Die’s lips were sealed over his again and this time, it was far from chaste. The redhead’s tongue delved deep into his mouth, lapping and teasing and tasting in tandem with the ever-ramping thrust of his hips, pushing Kaoru harder and harder into the wall behind him. And Kaoru was beside himself, entirely lost in the barrage of more sensations than he could ever hope to comprehend at once. There - a slick, fleshy invader in his mouth, and he found himself tangling his own tongue with it awkwardly, desperately, hungrily. There – hard, smooth skin rubbing against his chest, sweat glistening on both of them from the heat of the nearby fire combined with the heat of arousal. There – a strong hand encasing his arousal, and a rigid, satin-soft heat stroking against it over and over again, smearing the pearly-clear liquid dripping from both their heads back and forth. There – Die’s low, wonderfully smooth voice drawn into a purely decadent moan, echoing in both their mouths.

There – fingers, intertwined with his own, pressing his hand into the wall over his head, providing him an anchor he surely would be drowning without.

Then it all came together, muddling up into a single ball of lightning in his belly before _bursting_ , shocking a sharp, gasping cry from his lips and pulling his entire body into a strained arch. Liquid heat flooded the channel created by their joined hands and Die was glad for the lubricant as he rutted ever harder, ever faster against Kaoru even as the smaller man sagged, spent, against the wall. Kaoru watched through hazy eyes as the lord sank deeper and deeper into his pleasure, watched as the steady rhythm began to falter and fall apart, watched as the man’s gods-sculpted body went rigid, his beautiful face twisted into the most perfect picture of ecstasy while a fresh wave of wet heat splashed between them.

And as Die melted against him, sated, Kaoru felt a rush of gratitude for the man. Die had been the first person to ever look at him and see a human being. Die had been the first person to ever speak to him with consideration and kindness. Die had been the first person to touch him without the intention of hurting him. Die had given him a _name_. Die had been the change he’d spent his life praying for, and even if the morning came and everything went back to the way it had always been, Kaoru would always carry the memory of this night with him.

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to forgive me for being selfish, Kaoru,” Die murmured at length, nuzzling against glossy black hair that still smelled faintly of jasmine flowers.

“M’Lord?” Kaoru whispered uncertainly. “Die?”

“I think I’m going to have to keep you.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A last-minute birthday gift for Cadkitten! I made sure to involve frot and Die, but after that, the whole thing really just got out of control.
> 
> Oh! And for those who didn't know, Kaoru (薫) is a unisex (slightly more feminine) name meaning 'sweet smell or fragrance.'


End file.
